In the Family
by Sherlocked2013
Summary: When John Watson helps out the younger brother of the head of the deadly Holmes family, he never imagined he would be pulled into a seedy world of gangsters and violence. Not that he minds, of course. Mafia!AU
1. Chapter 1

**A Sherlock inspired AU.**

* * *

John Watson did not consider himself a lucky man but he also did not consider himself an unlucky man either. A lucky man would not have been shot by a sniper's rifle but an unlucky man would have died. A lucky man would have had a nice flat to come home to but an unlucky man would have been homeless.

John Watson was king of the in-betweens.

And his majesty currently needed some milk and eggs.

He decided that the short walk to the corner store would not be too bad on his limp and it was not as if he could really afford the cab fare.

He layered himself in a cream colored jumper before sliding a well-worn leather jacket over it all. It was quite warm and would keep him comfortable on his trip out.

He left his flat, throwing some weight onto his cane as he started his walk. It was sprinkling lightly and the cool drops felt nice against his face. The street was dark with very few people on it, not that John minded, he enjoyed the quiet nights.

When he stepped out of the store about twenty minutes later, with a single bag of only the necessities, he shifted the weight of the bag so it would not hit his cane. The street was still quiet but as he passed a few of the closed cafes, the night suddenly exploded with gunfire.

John felt instinct take over and he immediately sought for cover, dropping his groceries in favor of completely shielding his body. He stayed low which was his saving grace as two large men rushed out of the alley directly in front of him, one of them firing another shot over his shoulder.

"He's down! Quit firing more off!"

A car pulled up to allow the two men to get in before it sped off down the street, leaving John breathing hard with a dark look on his face. He stayed low for another minute before getting back to his feet and slowing approached the alley. Even in the dark, the shape of a body on the ground was unmistakable and ran forward, dropping down next to the man.

The man was pale with a mop of curly black hair and the most intense gray eyes that were staring John with a look that he could not quite place. There was a wound close to his temple but blood only seemed to be trickling out of it. His clothes were posh and his coat was wet from the puddle of rain water that was around him.

"Can you hear me?" John asked as he examined the wound. The man's pulse seemed strong and it seemed that the only injury was the graze on his temple.

"Yes."

"Right, looks like a graze but you'll need stitches." John muttered, almost to himself as he fished out his phone to dial emergency services. The man's hand came up and gripped John's wrist with surprising strength.

"No hospitals."

John's face went deadpan, "You've been shot. You need stitches, you need a doctor."

"You are a doctor."

John blinked in surprise, "I don't-"

"I can get you equipment." The man sat up forcefully with John's wrist in his hand.

"Again, you've been shot—"

"Grazed."

"You're in shock-"

"Not quite."

The man was infuriatingly stubborn but John knew a dumb move would be to go with the man who just had bullets fired at him but he also knew the man needed to be treated.

"Can you stand?"

The man nodded with a faint wince and John helped him to his feet, letting him lean his weight onto his shorter frame. He decided to risk taking the man back to his flat, it was close and he doubted that the man could remember the route in his current condition. He started the trip back to his flat with the man hanging over his shoulder and his groceries and cane left behind.

* * *

When John finally got the man into his flat, he could almost feel the sneer on the posh man's face at his small space. He helped the man out of his coat and set it near his heater with a mental note to let it dry.

"Sit down here while I get my kit." He said, easing the lanky man into his only armchair. He stepped off steadily to his bedroom, coming back with the kit under his arms a few moments later. He turned on his lamp and went to go wash his hands. When he returned, he knelt next to the man and began to clean the wound. He also checked the man's eyes, looking for any issues with pupils that would indicated a concussion from either the force of the bullet or when he hit the ground. When everything seemed to be in order there, he got out his equipment for stitching. He worked silently, putting all his focus into the stitches. To his credit, the man let him work in peace.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

"…ask what?" John responded after a moment.

"Why those men were shooting at me."

John leaned back, surveying his work as he packed up the kit neatly, "I get the feeling I wouldn't want to know."

The man hummed in acknowledgment as he put his fingers up to his temple, wincing again lightly.

"I have pain killers, if you need."

"No, thank you."

"Care for some tea, then?" John had already walked away to start the kettle for himself and figured he might as well offer.

John caught the man's nod before the dark haired stranger started to busy himself with his cell phone. A few moments later, he moved to hand the man his cup but found the man was too busy sending what had to be text after text.

"Ah, here you are Mister…"

The man took the cup without looking up at John, dropping the phone onto the arm of the chair, "Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

John blinked as if he had heard that name somewhere before but could not place it, "John Watson."

Sherlock took a sip of his tea, eyeing John up and down once more, "Do you prefer Doctor or do you still go by your Army rank?"  
"How did you know that? Even back in the alley." John had nothing around his flat to indicate he had served in the military beyond the single handgun that was in his bedroom cupboard.

A light smile touched Sherlock's lips as he set the cup back into the saucer, "Both are easy to see if you observe…"

Sherlock began to rattle off reason after reason as to why John was clearly military, starting from his stance all the way down to his tan line at his wrist. The reasons for being a doctor also came quickly and with such confidence that John could not be anything but impressed.

"That is amazing."

Sherlock blinked, looking a bit surprised for the first time of the night, "You really think so?"

"Of course it is, Mr. Holmes."

"Please, call me Sherlock."

Sherlock's phone buzzed at that moment and he quickly read the text, "My ride is outside."

"Hold on, I never gave you the address to this place," And John was certain the man's eyes had been closed nearly the whole trip.

"If I knew you were a doctor just by looking at you, John, what makes you think that figuring out where I am was going to be hardship?"

Sherlock got up with an elegant move as he handed the cup off to John and took his coat from the heater.

"Thank you for your assistance John. I shall find some way to reward you accordingly."

John simply nodded, "Right."

And with that, Sherlock left his flat and everything became quiet again.

It was only then that John realized he no longer had his cane.

* * *

**Currently a work in progress, please let me know what you think! **


	2. Thanks

**Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

When John awoke the next morning, hungry for some toast and eggs, he found his cupboards empty. He groaned in slight annoyance, more upset that he would undoubtedly have to go out to spend more money that he did not have. He reminded himself that helping someone was worth a few quid but it still did not fill his belly. He also needed to go out and find his cane. He sighed in resignation and threw on his leather jacket, heading for the door.

When he went to open his door, he found a large man standing there with his cane in one hand and a few bags of groceries in the other.

"Hello!" The man beamed at John's gaping look, bustling past John into his apartment.

"Hello," John replied as the man moved past him, he added, "Hold on, who are you?"

"Angelo." The large man smiled. He set John's cane down and began to store the groceries in the refrigerator and the pantry.

"Angelo, right." John muttered, "I'm sorry but perhaps you have the wrong flat?"

Angelo laughed, "Sherlock said you might be confused but don't worry, lad. I'm here under his orders."

John blinked again, "Orders?"

"Aye. I was told to bring that cane and a fresh bag of groceries to a Doctor John Watson's flat." Angelo clapped his hands together, "Seeing as how you're him, I'd say I've done my job."

John cast an eye over the new food and saw that it was much more than he had bought the day before, "Sherlock sent you?"

Angelo nodded, looking at John like he was being a little bit slow, "As thanks." He glanced down at his wrist watch, "Well, that's my time. Pleasure meeting you, Dr. Watson."

He left with the same bustling movement he had entered with, leaving John standing there staring at the door.

John ate a decent breakfast after he shook off the feeling of uneasiness about the whole morning. He decided that it was quite kind of Sherlock to send him a thank you gift and figured it would be the last he would hear from the man.

He would never have guessed it was only the beginning.

* * *

The next day went without incident, only solidifying the idea in John's mind that Sherlock was out of his life forever. The thought bothered him somewhat, which he dismissed as a bit childish. He had left his flat in favor of taking a walk while the weather was still good.

"Doctor Watson."

John turned and saw a pretty young woman standing by a sleek black car. She was texting endlessly, only glancing up when John did not respond right away.

"Sorry?"

She gave him a pained grin, "You are Doctor Watson, correct?"

John sighed and angled his cane to his side, looking to see if he could see if anyone else was in the car but the tinted windows prevented any chance of that.

"And you are?"

"Anthea." She leaned over and pulled the car door open, still texting away, "If you please."

John did not move, "And where am I going?"

"To see a friend." She said simply, looking as if he should know all of this already. "Please."

He looked into the car and found that the back, where he was to sit, was empty. "Fine." He huffed, his mind drifting to Sherlock. He entered the car with Anthea following behind him. The car drove off and John glanced out the window, noting the streets they were turning down.

They rode in silence into a warehouse district, the car entered a building and stopped, Anthea exiting quickly and walking off before John could say anything else to her. John started to walk after her when a different voice pulled him into a different direction.

"Good to see you, Dr. Watson."

"Sherlock?"

The man stepped forward, swinging his umbrella with little care as he moved forward. When he stopped walking, he set the umbrella down much like John's own cane.

"Not quite." The man was tall with a bit of weight around his gut and his hair was thinning a bit around the top but his eyes had the same steel in them that John had seen in Sherlock's.

"So you are?" John asked the annoyance in his voice barely hidden.

"Mycroft Holmes." The man gave him a very short bow, "At your service."

"You're Sherlock's…"

"Brother. Surely you're not implying I look old enough to be his father?"

John shrugged his shoulders, "It's been a weird few days."

Mycroft frowned, "Yes, I heard all about your assistance that you gave my brother. I wished to thank you personally for it."

"There are better ways to do that than driving me all the way out here." John responded.

"Forgive me, Doctor, I typically stay away from the public eye when I can." Mycroft tilted his head to the side, "But please, allow me to repay your kindness."

"No." John started, "Thank you but no, I don't need any payment of any kind."

"Are you certain? As I understand, the amount that Army pension has given you is not a lot."

John gapped, "How-how do you know what my pension is?"

Mycroft only gave him a small smile, "I have my ways, Doctor."

"Right, well, thank you for that but I'm fine." John stepped back.

"Are you certain? I could use a man like you." Mycroft responded, looking John over carefully.

"Thank you again, but no." John turned on his heel and began to walk back to the car but found that it was gone.

Rather than go back to Mycroft, who gave John an uneasy feeling, he continued walking out of the warehouse, figuring he could spare the expense and hail a cab. When he exited the warehouse, he found his plan had reached a serious flaw with a downpour just starting to come down hard.

"…great."

The idea of going back to Mycroft was still unappealing so he stepped forward into the downpour,

"You're not seriously going to walk home, are you?"

John turned and saw Sherlock standing under an umbrella, the look on his face was one of mild amusement.

"No, I was planning to walk as far as a cab." John retorted hotly, stepping back out of the rain.

"Come, I'll get us a ride."

John sighed and Sherlock held out the umbrella for him to also walk under. "How is your head?"

"A mild ache, thanks to your fine work." Sherlock led them around the backside of the warehouses.

John nodded, glancing at the wound just to confirm that Sherlock hadn't pulled a stitch, "Thank you for the groceries."

"It was the least I could do. I suppose now I'll have to apologize for Mycroft's brand of thanks though."

John laughed faintly, "No, it's alright."

Sherlock called over a man in a non-descript suit and had him pull around another black car, leaving John to wonder what kind of business was actually being run around the area.

"Back to your flat?" Sherlock asked, letting John open the door to the car.

"Yes, please."


End file.
